Quite Contrary
by htebazytook
Summary: House/Wilson, OC. What must those other people in the elevator think?


**Title**: Quite Contrary

**Author**: htebazytook

**Rating**: PG-13 (for implications and innuendo :o)

**Disclaimer**: --

**Pairing**: House/Wilson

**Time Frame**: Somewhere toward the end of Season 3, I guess

**Warnings**: Third person. No, really—an OC. But it's all very voyeuristic. Theoretically crossover-ish patients mentioned in passing. . . . Yeah, you're probably better off just skipping this thing altogether :P

**Summary**: What must those other people in the elevator think?

8 AM.

Dr. Xu is in the hospital lobby, catching her breath after walking through the chilled parking lot in heels. More of a balancing act than usual considering the ice.

House walks by, Wilson in tow—_every_body loves Wilson. When he'd made department head, suddenly every female attending and their dog had always wanted to be a cancer specialist.

And she knows who House is, of course. Oh, the memos . . .

The elevator is packed and wrought with an air of annoyance and sleepiness and over-caffeination, sweat from too-warm coats now that they were inside.

"I've always wondered what it was like to be a dead fish in a tin can," House states to no one in particular once they start moving. "Phew, who took a bath in overkill cologne this morning? Listen, chicks don't dig the reeking of Axe angle. Just ask Wilson."

Wilson sighs.

Some people get off on the second floor.

"Sluggards!" House calls after them.

"Nobody _actually_ says that. And they're on their feet all day," Wilson says neutrally, clearly not expecting it to have an effect.

"So am I, but I'm a cripple so I get to use the elevator all the time without getting funny looks."

"I think you're wrong about the looks . . . you need your _own_ elevator to spare these fine people from your bubbling personality."

"That wouldn't be any fun."

"Since when is work fun?"

"Why, Wilson, are you implying that you don't en_joy_ hanging out with dying people and their families all day?"

Wilson tilts his head. They aren't actually looking at each other, but it's still like watching a verbal tennis. "Actually as I recall I spend most of my day hanging out with _you_, and not by choice."

"Hey, it's not rape if you want it too."

"What makes you think I want it?"

_Ding!_ Third floor. Xu shuffles through all the coats and people to the front.

"Well, there was the time we—"

The elevator doors cut them off.

Xu is a good little doctor, and rarely has need to head upstairs to legal. So the morning elevator ride with House and Wilson always seems to be missing that last crucial minute to wrap it all up with a tune and a cheesy montage. She's resigned to the fact that she'll never really know what the fuck they are talking about. Mostly.

-----

10:43. Down one floor to snag Mr. Wayne's surgeon for some off-the-record follow up questions, and it's about time for House and Wilson's coffee break.

They're the only ones in the elevator and seem to think that that is still the case even after Xu's gotten on.

"_How_ old is this kid?" Wilson is asking.

"He's in college or something," House says dismissively.

"And you don't know his exact age because . . . ?"

House snorts. "What are you, an idiot? That's Cameron's job. You know how she likes to get freaky with the terminally ill."

"He's ageless _and_ terminally ill?"

"Not _yet_!" House is thrilled by the prospect. "Give it time and a couple of misdiagnoses. You're paying for me, right?"

Wilson is more thrown by the shift in topic than Xu would've expected. "Uh, I . . ." And he's blushing.

"Good." A pause. House favors Wilson with a look that Xu can't quite make out, but Wilson's eyes widen slightly.

"House—" he begins warningly, inching away.

"Aw, come on, it's the mid-morning lag, nobody's gonna—"

_Ding!_

"See?"

Xu slides out of the elevator quietly.

-----

Quarter of 1. Her stomach's grumbling.

There are a couple of other people on the elevator, including House and Wilson. Xu tries not to admit to herself that she waited until now to go for lunch because of the increased chances of running into them.

Sometimes, work is just _that_ _boring_.

"Well it seems pretty relevant to me," House is saying.

"Yes, it _would_ be if he had any symptoms of an STD that present this quickly."

"How many times do we have to go over this? He's _lying_. For God's sake his _mother_ was in the room at the time Cameron chose so cunningly to ask him." House pauses, mind working. "But you bring up a good point," he concedes. "Could be something that hasn't even surfaced yet."

Wilson rolls his eyes, hands flying to his hips exasperatedly. He's turned to face him directly instead of duking it out through the usual the elevator door staring contest. "Oh, come on, are you trying to break the record for number of tests you can justify piling on a single patient?"

"No . . . _but_ I'll have to remember that for next time. Good thinking, Wilson!"

Wilson eyes turn heavenward. He's more maternal than friendly with House, at least in the elevator.

_Ding!_ Somebody gets on on the second floor, moves to the back to hide with Xu.

"Although," House continues, "Bryan said he hasn't had a girlfriend since seventh grade."

Wilson shoots him a 'go on' look, but gets only House's knowing gaze in response, which does little to explain. "And . . . you think he secretly had sex with a promiscuous 13-year-old with herpes . . . ?"

"Well, the kids probably would've called your hypothetical preteen prostitute a _total_ Loser, and as such she probably didn't join in any reindeer games—but you're missing the point. He never said anything about male partners."

Wilson manages to look both impressed and irritated. "So now Bryan, on the football scholarship and looking like it, is gay because everybody lies? It couldn't _possibly_ be that he never said anything about sleeping with the quarterback because he _wasn't_?" But Wilson still looks impressed.

_Ding!_

House and Wilson walk in sync off the elevator. It doesn't take long for Xu to pass them since she hasn't taken to sauntering around the hospital with a flashy cane.

"Man," House laments. "You didn't know that your college years were a time for experimentation and self-discovery, Wilson? God, what other rites of passage have you missed out on? You know what, I'm taking it upon myself to set up a remedial course just for you. I can see that you're flattered."

Xu hears Wilson sputtering indistinctly.

"I knew you would be," House says. "It starts in my office after lunch, if you're interested."

-----

6 o'clock and all is well. Xu is running down to the pharmacy to fill a prescription.

It's just Wilson in the elevator, staring up at the numbers above the door, one hand in a tan coat pocket and looking relaxed for all that his free hand taps relentlessly on his leg.

_Ding!_

Surprise, Wilson is also heading for the pharmacy. Xu slows her pace to keep the threat of an awkward walking distance at bay. She sees House leaning on the counter.

Wilson walks up to him without saying a word, snatches the prescription out of his hand, glances it over, gives it back. "You could've just asked me." He sounds mildly hurt.

Xu tries to maneuver around Wilson to hand the pharmacist Mr. Bluth's Prozac prescription. Wilson finally registers her presence and shifts forward and out of her way, suddenly very close to House.

House considers, ignoring Wilson's proximity. "Yeah, but you never put out."

"Not true. I can't remember the last time anybody else filled your prescription."

House raises his eyebrows.

Wilson smirks, unfazed. "I could write you another one tonight, if you're not busy."

"Here you go, Dr. Xu," the pharmacist boredly interrupts, apparently immune to House and Wilson by now. Xu snatches the bottle and imagines her heels are thunderously loud as she makes her escape.

-----

Now it's Tuesday. Xu's clinic hours don't start until after she's gone over some businessman's newly-diagnosed bipolar disorder. She doesn't see either of the dynamic duo until she's picking up charts from the clinic desk at 8:30 where she gets Mrs. Fujimiya, of course, and wonders why she's expected to spout Mandarin at an elderly Japanese woman when she only knows English and three halfhearted years worth of high school Spanish.

She turns around in time to see Wilson knocking on the door to Exam Room 2.

"Who's there?" comes the muffled response from inside.

Wilson looks down, smiles to himself. His hands really are perpetually glued to his hips, aren't they? "Dolores."

House opens the door a fraction. "Dolores who?"

"Dolores my shepherd," Wilson deadpans.

House's mouth quirks. "I shall not want." He gives Wilson a practically palpable once-over and kicks the door open. Xu glimpses a TV and a distinct lack of patient. "After you, Jay Leno. Jax might _not_ be the father of Courtney's baby!" He gasps theatrically. "And right now people are shooting at each other."

-----

Early lunchtime today. It's only a bit after noon. House and Wilson are the only other ones in the elevator. Again. How does this keep happening?

But Xu isn't in the mood for voyeurism today and is concentrating on staying awake, running over to-do lists in her head and only half-listening to them, when:

"Don't worry about it, I'm paying," Wilson adds nonchalantly.

House looks pleased and Wilson meets his gaze. "Don't you think we should check up on old wossisname—"

"Bryan."

"—before selfishly indulging in the unbridled gluttony Princeton-Plainsboro's renowned culinary masterminds inspire?"

"Hmm, I've never heard our dining services so portrayed. But, I yield to your superior wit or . . . vocabulary or something."

House shifts quickly to over-the-top and dismissive. They can't seem to stay in one tone for long. "_Yeah_. Chase doesn't know what the hell he's doing with a scalpel anyway, I think we both know that."

Wilson holds House's gaze as he reaches out to push another button just in time, and continues to hold it until,

_Ding!_

House lets Wilson take the lead off the elevator. "Wilson," he accuses. "I think the surgical theater is the other way . . ."

"That's because it is." Wilson spins around, hands on hips again, gives House a downright mischievous look before resuming his path. "Are you coming or not? I did offer to pay, you know."

Xu can just glimpse House's swiftly-smothered smile before the doors close.

When _do_ they get any work done?

-----

By 3 she's truly falling asleep—damn tempting marathons on TBS—and rationalizes a coffee break.

The three doctors hijacking her elevator only vaguely register in Xu's mind and she slaps some temporarily labels on them for her brain's sake.

"I can't believe I'm running this test _again_. What does he think will happen this time? I didn't make a mistake," Hair complains. Make that Hair with an Accent. Come to think of it, weirdly inflected shouts of _CLEAR!_ echoing unnecessarily across the hospital aren't an uncommon feature of Xu's trips to the second floor patient rooms. The guy must really suck. "And where did he make _that_ little getaway to anyway?"

"He's probably getting a consult," Miss Professional sighs, taking offence at Hair's apparent lack of faith.

"It's not cancer." Not-White seems pretty damn sure about this. Xu can practically hear his eye-roll.

Hair-With-An-Accent lets loose a sharp, snidely flavored exhale. "'S'not like we ever rule it out for more than five minutes."

"I wonder how he'd justify Wilson-breaks if we stopped saying it could be cancer all the time."

"He'd just _go_," Hair says. "He never justifies anything, Foreman."

"Can we please," Miss Professional sighs, "focus on the case?"

"Woah, hang on, since when do you care more about the patient than any and all opportunities to psychoanalyze House?"

"Maybe," she sighs, getting irritated, "I recognize the benefits of House's 'Wilson-breaks' on his ability to do his job. Psychoanalytical enough for you?"

"I can't believe you'd say that," Foreman says. "You never get along with Wilson. And he _hates_ you." He's so gleeful about taunting her.

"No," Miss Professional says, voice angling forever downwards. "House hates me, so Wilson acts accordingly."

"Oh whatever," Hair interjects. "Who cares? Let's do House's stupid bloodwork again so we can get out of here."

_Ding!_

They march off the elevator in sync.

-----

The elevator doors open on a distinctly pissed off Wilson. Xu can tell by the uncharacteristic aggression with which the hands meet the hips. The death glare directed at House is another indication, and, more than either of these things, House's very evident glee.

It's rare to encounter them when she heads home this early. She's started to suspect that they do in fact live in the hospital.

Wilson acknowledges Xu's presence for once with a warning look at House, but House relishes ignoring it. "As I was saying. Of course you went running to Cuddy—you secretly love her. Or maybe I'm confusing your love for Cuddy with your love for snivelly, underhanded tattling."

Wilson makes a show of considering. "Mm, no I think you have _me_ confused with Cameron. Also, last I checked . . . _you_ were the one with the unrequited feelings for Cuddy . . ." He talks in that pointedly innocent way that can come off as a little too mean.

"_Play_," House states in a tone that brooks no argument. And indeed Wilson doesn't seem to have anything to say to that. A slightly more companionable pause while they stare above the elevator door and Xu begins to think they've given up on conflict. "What makes you think it's unrequited?" House leans toward Wilson while he speaks, meeting his gaze with the last syllable.

Xu can't actually see Wilson roll his eyes but nevertheless feels pretty confident he's doing it based on the ensuing, especially fed up sigh.

He starts to say something but House cuts him off: "You're the boy who cried cancer. You're not good for anything else. Well, not _much_," he amends.

Wilson laughs slightly hysterically and all this seems to do is spur House on.

"And I think you'll find that _you're_ the one killing the next Joe Namath by preventing me from doing my job."

There's that unhinged laughter again. "Oho—no. Just, no. You don't get to take that self-righteous tone with me. Big, bad, well-intentioned House may bedazzle his posse, but unfortunately for you, I'm immune."

House offers a snigger under his breath. "Ye-_ah_, I totally buy that—"

"I _think_ you're confusing my voluntary association with the likes of _you_, a feat in itself, with weakness," Wilson interjects, matching House's increasing volume.

"Wasn'tthinking so much the association as the associat_ing_."

"Most of which is _in_voluntary . . ."

"Wow," House laughs. "_That's_ not what you said last—"

"Hey, I'm just feeding selfishly off of your neediness, remember? And you're welcome, once again, for saving your patient. Take it up with Cuddy if you're still pissed after an hour of brooding in the dark."

Wilson gets off the elevator as soon as the doors open again. Luckily somebody else gets on so Xu isn't alone with a visibly seething House.

She thinks about taking the stairs once in awhile.

-----

The next day someone knocks on her door, followed by a head poking cautiously into her office.

"Dr. Xu?"

Xu looks up from her desk. "What, you just assume _I'm_ Dr. Xu?"

"No!" Wilson is adorably dumbstruck. "I mean. Gah, I'm sorry, I just—the other day—your office has a—" He gestures at the door and is getting more flustered by the minute.

"I'm kidding. Call me Mary, okay?"

Wilson blows out a sigh. "Sorry. Thanks. I'm Dr. Wilson. Uh, James." He reaches out to shake her hand and seems grateful for the decorum. He hasn't sat down, either. Xu wonders if he remembers her from the elevator yesterday, too. "I have a patient. Stephen. He's . . . not exactly terminal, but he's pretty convinced of it. You were recommended."

"You think he's actually crazy or just depressed over the cancer thing?"

Wilson laughs lightly. "_Well_, he's also convinced he commands his own 'nation' and has this really irrational fear of bears . . ."

"All of this came out during the chemo, huh?"

He laughs again. "I like to be personable with my patients. Puts them at ease." Yeah. Wilson's certainly putting Xu at ease with his warm eyes and apologetic posture. Something about him is just irresistible to watch, and maybe a little tragic.

Xu is trying very hard not to turn into a dumb giggly blonde. "I've got some openings on Thursday in the morning. Do you know if . . . ?"

"Oh, well—wait. No. He can't come in 'til 5 on Thursday. Or maybe it was 4? I'm sorry, um . . ."

"No, no, it's okay." She flips around in her schedule for no reason other than to stop staring. "How about, um, 6:45."

Wilson looks a little unfocused, so she adds, "Does that—?"

"Yeah, that's—"

Wilson laughs at himself. "Sorry. I'm really sorry, Dr.—uh, Mary. I'm just a little distracted today." His steady gaze is making her overheat.

"Okay, well tell your patient 6:45 on Thursday. Or do you want me to just, like, show up and pretend I'm changing his I.V. or something?"

Wilson considers this, nods. "Yeah, actually, I think that might be best. He's not very trusting. Yeah." He still looks like he's thinking about something else entirely. Snaps out of it when Xu clears her throat. "Well, thank you for your time, Dr. Xu. And good luck—he's got some interesting ideas on, um, the truth. Okay. Thanks."

-----

House is in full-blown, oblivious ranting mode when Xu gets on the elevator that night, but Wilson gives her a little smile. She settles into the corner between the other unfortunate souls trying to get home without incident, silent and pretending they don't hear a word House is saying.

"Feel free to jump in any time here," House says to him, a bit of challenge in it.

Wilson looks content, hands in coat-pockets, staring up at the numbers. "Oh, how I detest Cuddy and her wily ways. How terrible her insistence on upholding federal laws, how disastrous her interpretation of business casual, how very _annoying_ it is when she's _right_. I'm not apologizing for ratting you out."

"Fine," House grumbles. "You could've just told me to my face, though."

Wilson's eyes go wide. "You wouldn't've listened!"

"How do you know?"

"Hm, let me see—probably something to do with the _years of experience_ I've had with your inability to listen to what anybody else says."

"Oh, come on, I listen to you." Wilson looks at him. "I don't ever actually _do_ whatever it is you're asking, but . . ."

Wilson laughs and resumes his study of the elevator numbers.

"It's just that usually what you think—doesn't make sense. And you know as well as I do that I'll end up being right _anyway_. Wilson. Hey, stop being a teenage girl and look at me."

"We're gonna stop fighting about this now, huh? Just like that?" Still not looking at House.

"Unless you've got something self-righteous to add."

Wilson rocks on his heels, looks at his shoes instead of at House. "You're an ass." Affectionate.

"Ha."

_Ding!_

House gets off the elevator first, spinning around convolutedly and dragging Wilson with him to one side and kissing him obviously in the hospital lobby. Hands in Wilson's hair and tiny sounds from Wilson's throat and the intent in House's eyes when they break apart for air, still so close.

Wilson seems to register their location—to be fair, the only people around are the ones emptying the elevator—and takes a step back, fighting a smirk. "I think you should do this by the book for once."

"_I_ think you're wrong."

Wilson sighs but he looks happy enough. "Goodnight, House."

"Goodnight, Wilson."

Mary Xu is definitely not taking the stairs any time soon.

-----


End file.
